A
Love Story
By
Good Enough
The sunrise was
hours away as he finished loading the wagon, stores for six months if
he was careful, his goat, his cow, the black pony, tools, and the
most valuable thing he owned, the single man plow. As he tightened
the leather straps and checked the rigging on the black his
concentration was interrupted by the sound of the heavy latch on the
barn door being slowly lifted aside. He turned to look, his sister
Kate squeezed through the door, barely opening it more than a crack.
Kate stood on the dirt and straw floor barefoot in her nightgown her
long sun brown hair falling like waves on her shoulders; she had one
arm on the pull rope as she carefully placed the latch back in its
holder and one arm behind her back as if she was hiding something.
“William” she whispered, “You’re really going?” Of course
he was, he had, in truth been gone for months. “Father won’t let
me be, he will have me in the Pennsylvania Regulars on my birthday,
and by the time I turn seventeen I will be fighting some God awful
war somewhere, I can’t be that man Bug, so I’m going to go.”
Kate looked at him with wide sad eyes; “Bug” had been his name
for her for years all through their childhood, which was ending this
very moment. “William I’m coming with you” she stated, but she
knew his answer was no.”Then who will take care of mother, you know
father wont.” She ran over to her big brother and wrapped her arms
around his neck, “I’ll come some day when you’re settled, it
will be fine, I can cook any you can farm, we will just care for each
other just like always.” Tears welled up in her eyes. He pulled
away from her, “I have to be on the way before father get’s up so
you go back to bed, and when I am all settled I will send for you.”
She smiled as he wiped the tears from her eyes, “You go Bug.” She
stepped back and brought her arm around her lithe frame, “The
fiddle” she said, as she handed him an old worn fiddle in a hard
leather case. “Grand paw would have wanted you to have it, and
here.” She handed him one more treasure, “Grand’s compass so
you can find your way back to me.” He took both items and placed
them on the rickety wood seat of the small wagon, and then embraced
his sister one more time.
It was months of
travel, he went on what logging trails he could find, and cut trails
where he had to. He passed by York County, and kept himself as far
from the settlements as he could, he knew that by now he was a wanted
man. His father would have called the constabulary and most likely
his old friends in the Regulars, you could hang for what he had done.
He crossed the border at the Niagara River making the crossing at
night in a shallow part of it course, once again avoiding the logging
camps and small settlements along the riverbank. Then he cut a path
as straight as an arrow to a spot on an old map his Grand had used
when he was a trapper for the Hudson’s Bay.
He arrived in the
late fall, and the first breaths of winter were on the land. He
worked like a man possessed by the devil himself, for he knew that he
couldn’t live in the wagon over a winter, nor could his animals, so
he worked every day until exhaustion crept on him in the late hours,
and then up before the sun the next day. In time he had a wood house
with a door you could close and a window with two shutters and a
Soddy barn for his animals. The winter was brutal, he lived on birch
soup and small rodents that he managed to trap as they tried to get
out of the cold and the frost. One of the things that kept him alive
was the fiddle, at night in the cold and the wind he would play until
he could sleep. He would think of the warm air and the fields of
golden grain and play songs that spoke to the sun, begging it to
return.
On what he
guessed was the fourth week of Advent he had his first visitor. The
man was big and was riding a heavy grey horse the size of a draft,
its steel hooves digging even into the frozen earth. He called out to
the house, “Hail in the house, I be an enemy of no man just looking
for rest from the devils own wind”. Young William was more than a
little worried when he saw the long rifle on the man’s saddle, and
of course the size of him was more than a little concerning. William
hadn’t talked to anyone in what felt like a lifetime and that was
probably the biggest motivator for inviting the man in.
He introduced
himself as Falstaff, a trapper and long rider as he took off the
layers of fur he wore. Even out of the furs he was a huge man with
bear like arms and wind burned and weathered skin, long grey and
black hair that he had held with a bone comb, and a beard like Father
Christmas almost half way down his chest in length, it was his eyes
however that fascinated William the most, deep blue like a lake
frozen solid all the way to the bottom. William offered him some food
and the heat of his fire, “Birch soup boy, oh come now that’s no
meal for men like us.” Falstaff laughed. He slapped William on the
shoulder and nearly drove him to his knees. William hadn’t been
eating too well, working so hard had turned every ounce of him into
taunt muscle and sinew, but truth be told he was a small framed boy,
especially in comparison to the towering Falstaff. “Throw a bit
more of that birch on your fire boy,” Falstaff remarked, “Tonight
we feast”, he got up and went outside to his mount, when he came
back in he had a slab of deer meat that could have choked a horse.
The smell of the
meat roasting over the fire nearly drove William insane. The two men
ate and William asked all of the questions he could think about the
outside world and anything else that Falstaff wanted to talk about.
As the night wore on William offered Falstaff a payment for the meat,
at first the big man refused but when William took his fiddle down
and put it to his chin the big trapper smiled. He played for what
felt like hours, a jig and then a lament, a love song, and then a
spry tune about young men going off to war. By the time the two men
had to sleep they were fast friends. In the morning Falstaff and
William spoke again as he prepared to leave to see to his trap line.
“You take care
young William” Falstaff began, “You are not as alone as you think
in this wilderness, I have seen the Devil in these woods, and he’s
not alone.” William told the old trapper that he hadn’t seen much
of anything in the wood, let alone the Devil himself, but he would be
careful. The wizened trapper asked if William had a rifle, and when
he replied that he did not the big woodsman shook his head, “Your
but a babe in the woods”, he gave him a black powder flint lock,
“It’s too small for more than squirrel or rabbit but it might put
some meat on the table or give the less than charitable a second
thought” The two men shook hands and Falstaff climbed up on the
saddle of his gigantic mount. “Be well young William, I will be
back this way in the fall and we can share some of your soup and some
tales and songs”. As Falstaff rode off toward the tree line
William brought up his fiddle and played until the big man was lost
in the trees and the white morning ground fog.
The winter
finally passed, it had been hard but William had survived. As the
spring started to melt the snow and the sun regained some of its
warmth William started to work. He cleared and plowed a good bit of
land, and then planted before the spring rains. As the days went by
he set traps and went about building a bigger barn for whatever crops
he might grow, finding some of the local long grains as good for
breads he planted whatever could find.
In the first long
days of summer he went out, compass and rifle in hand to hunt and
find a better source of water than the rain. He was gone from his
farm for four days when he decided he had enough meat, some pheasant,
and a clutch of rabbits and a small deer that he would salt and keep
for the long months that were ahead of him, he had also found a small
creek that seemed to be teeming with fish. As he returned he checked
his traps and found a few more small game animals, things were, for
the first time in months, looking up. Once home he started to dig a
well as his next project and as luck would have it he found water and
was able to set some stones to build a not bad source of clean and
cold drinking water. He sat down one night as the sun set behind the
trees and thought to himself, “Peace and prosperity, who could ask
for anything more.”
The days passed
and for William it seemed that time had become a constant companion.
Work was done as the sun shined and at night he would sing the songs
he knew and play his fiddle, it was idyllic but there was something
missing, William was of course alone. He spoke to the goat and the
cow, the black pony and he had great long conversations about the
people back in Pennsylvania, but he was alone and he felt it. One
night while scraping some deer hides for a new shirt the strangest
thing happened, someone knocked at the wood door. He held the buck
knife he had been using for the hides tightly in his hand, and went
to the door, “Yes, who’s out there” he called at the door.
“Just a traveler on a long road, “was the reply. He cautiously
opened the door. The stranger was about four inches or so taller that
William. Maybe five ten, or five eleven, he was thin and surprisingly
well dressed for this far away from anyone who wasn’t a tapper or a
bushman. He had shined black boots, black pants, a fine black jacket
and a white lace shirt. He wore a broad brimmed hat and a set of
matched pistols around his waist, a long black riding cape finished
off his strange appearance. “May I come in,” the stranger asked,
William felt a cold chill run down his spine but it was poor manners
to not let the man in. William ushered him and asked his name. “I
am Jack the Cobblers son”, the man replied. “A strange name,”
remarked William, “but well met Jack, am William,””No last name
for such a fine young man?” The stranger asked. William stumbled
for a moment, “I talk to so few people out here I have forgotten my
manners, William Young, from York”, something told William it was
time to lie, there seemed more than a few things about this man that
were so wrong.
The stranger
looked around William’s small home and remarked, “You appear to
be well provisioned and well kept, is there a misses William Young.”
William replied that he lived alone but had learned much from his
mother, and so his home had her touches, the stranger asked if he had
seen anyone over the last little while, “The road is long and I
would like company on it so if there is anyone who you have seen
perhaps you could tell me about them.” William was now really
wondering what this man was about, “No I haven’t seen a soul in
months” was his terse reply. The stranger sat down in one of
William’s homemade chairs and stretched out his legs. “Not a
soul, not so much as one person.” William asked the man his
business, “What trade are you sir, I don’t see you as a cobbler.”
The man replied he was a hunter “of a sort” but he had lost the
trial of his quarry some weeks back and was just widening his
search.”It’s not a matter of worry, I always get my prey.” The
stranger retorted, to William and it almost sounded like a threat.
All at once the stranger rose to his feet and looked William straight
in the eyes. “You best not get in with the wrong sort of people
good farmer, there’s a danger in running with the wrong crowd.”
William felt the need to step back from the stranger; he had an edge
in his voice that frightened the young man. “I don’t run with any
crowd sir, I keep just my own company.” “A wise choice farmer,
very wise,” the stranger said as he walked toward the door, “I
might come back this way again and we can have a chat about your
travels farmer William” .He walked out the door as if he owned the
place, an arrogant swagger in each step. William watched him as he
mounted his horse, a pitch black stallion tall and lean like his
rider; William noticed the Sharp’s long rifle and the manacles that
hung from the saddle. He rode off to the south right through one of
Williams’s vegetable patches. Even in his loneliness William was
glad to see this man ride off, “Good riddance”, William thought
to himself.
The weeks pasted
and William worked his farm, hunted, fished, and played his fiddle.
He watched his little desolate piece of land become green and
fertile, and he harvested the goods of his many labors. As fall
approached he wondered if his friend Falstaff would be back as he had
said he might be. In case he did return William went hunting for deer
to repay his friends kindness in kind. He had been out five days or
so tracking a herd of deer that seemed as elusive as smoke but on the
morning of the sixth day he felt that today would be his day. Around
midday he found there trail and followed it, it was a glorious day,
as the sun climbed in a clear blue sky, the birds sang and the air
was the scent of growing things, William was almost lost in the
beauty of the day and then, gun shots. He ran toward the sound,
pushing through the dense underbrush then suddenly he came across a
man lying dead in a hollow in the ground. The man was a trapper by
the look of him, rough clothes and a long hunting knife by his side,
he had been struck in the head and the wound had been lethal. More
shots rang out and William cocked the flintlock, and ran forward
through the trees, he soon came across a second man, much like the
first this man had also been struck a deadly blow to the skull and
lay dead, two pistols in his cold hands. William felt his heart race,
what had he stumbled into, he moved forward through the trees, the
birds no longer singing, the air even seemed colder on his skin.
As he came into a
small clearing he was stunned at what he saw. Two men circled each
other, the first a gruff looking trapper, leather buckskin pants and
a course overcoat, a flintlock pistol in one hand and a long knife in
the other. The other man was a big man in a brown cloak, a tree limb
in his hands like a makeshift staff, the two men didn’t notice
William they were too intent on each other. The trapper called out,
“She’s just a sqaw, its nothing, just a bit of fun on the trail”
the man in the brown cloak glowered at the man, “I sent your two
friends to hell, and if you don’t hit the trail right now I’ll
send you to meet them.” He swung the limb at the trapper who nimbly
stepped out of the way, “I got myself a pistol padre, all you have
is a stick.” The trapper threatened, “If I was you I’d be the
one skinning out.” The man with the limb took another swing at the
trapper but he was a good three or four feet out of range. “What
you have is one shot, and if you miss I promise I smash your skull
like I did to your friends.” The trapper raised his pistol, from
that close of a range there was no way he would miss. William raised
the flintlock to his shoulder. “Drop your gun or I’ll shoot you
where you stand.” He called out bravely, even though in his heart
he was terrified. The trapper turned and stared in shock down the
barrel of Williams’s rifle. “What’s this, the Calvary, well boy
you had better shoot.” The trapper seeing William as the bigger
threat leveled his pistol at him, in that second the man with the
tree limb bellowed like a bear and jumped on the surprised trapper.
There was a single shot, and then neither man moved.
William ran over,
dropping his rifle as he went. The man in the cloak was lying on top
of the trapper, as William approached he rolled off him on to the
carpet of dead leaves on the forest floor. He let out a breath and
grunted out “Well what a fine mess I’ve made”. William looked
at the big man and realized he had been shot at least twice and now
to add to that damage he had the long knife buried in his abdomen up
to its hilt. The trapper was dead, his neck broken and on an odd
angel to the rest of his body. William knelt down beside the wounded
man and asked him if there was anything to be done. The man looked at
him, smiled and said, “No son, I’m in God’s hands now, I’m
spent, but there is something I would ask you to do, on my donkey on
the other side of those trees is something very special, promise me
you will take care of it for me.” William didn’t hesitate, “Of
course”. The man on the ground looked up at William, “Then I
charge you in the name of the Father, The Son and the Holy Spirit,
take what I have given you and care for it with all your heart.”
William was not a religious man, he had off course read the bible, it
was the only book back on the farm, and he had met the preacher who
came around every so often, and this man who was dying before him was
obviously some kind of religious, some kind of preacher. William
looked around for a second, the man on the ground said, “Bury the
body’s son, and don’t leave a mark, not a trace of what happened
here, it’s not safe.”And with that he grabbed Williams’s hand,
“Thank you Lord for this man, I haven’t failed”. With that he
lowered his gaze to his side and held up a small crucifix, he smiled
and then he went to meet his maker.
William went to
the other side of the trees to find out what this man held in such
high regard to kill three men for, and to die for himself. As he came
around the trees he saw a small campfire an old donkey some packs and
nothing more, “It must be in the packs” he thought to himself,
maybe it was Spanish gold or some religious icon. When he came up to
the packs sitting on a large flat rock a woman came out from behind a
bush, in her hand a skinning knife readied to strike. He raised his
hands into the air and said, “I’m a friend”, she just stared at
him with a grim intent. He took out his buck knife and dropped it to
the ground, “See I’m not going to hurt you”. She said a string
of words, none of which he could understand, and then weaved on her
feet and fell heavily to the ground. She was badly injured from what
he could tell, she had taken quite a beating and been patched back up
but literally she wasn’t out of the woods yet. He went about caring
for her, her abdomen was cut in several places and her wrists were
damaged by rope burns, her shoulders were bruised and discolored,
there was so much William thought for a moment of taking her to one
of the settlements he had passed so long ago but that would take
weeks of hard travel in the wagon and most probably she wouldn’t
survive the hardships of the road.
He made sure the
bandages were in place and made her as comfortable as he could and
then he set to the tasks at hand. He found a small spade among the
preachers equipment and buried the trappers in a deep hole by the
hollow where he had found the first of the men. The preacher he
buried with his head toward a great flat rock in the clearing, it
wasn’t a marker, but he would be able to find this place again if
he had to. The work took most of the day, he collected up the pistols
and ammunition, and other bits and pieces of gear and equipment, and
then he made a stretcher out of some tree limbs and improvised a
rigging, attaching it to the donkey. He gently put her on the
stretcher and grabbed the preachers pack and headed home. It had
taken him six days to reach where he had found her, it took almost
ten to make his way back to his homestead. She had been unconsous
most of the trip back, which was in away a blessing, the rough
terrain and the hard travel would have added to her pain, and somehow
he felt gentleness toward her. She was about as tall as his sister
Kate, perhaps they were around the same age, she was thin as a reed,
but he could not help but notice as he changed the bandages how very
feminine she was, curved and supple. She had dark skin, he had only
seen one Indian in his life, the Regulars had brought a warrior into
the town and hung him, and her skin was the same color. Her clothing
was all skins tanned and decorated with braids and leather strips, a
simple dress but somehow even cut and torn it was lovely.
He put her in his
simple bed and changed the dressing on her wounds, washing away the
dirt and grime of her time in the woods. The next day he noticed that
she had a fever, so he made dandelion tea and a thin soup made of
mostly onion to help combat the infection he was sure she had. Five
days pasted, he never left her side but she showed little
improvement. He was about at his wits end when he heard a familiar
voice one evening. “Hail in the house I’ve returned for more of
your merry music,” It was Falstaff; the big trapper would know what
to do with the fever. William ran out and greeted his friend, the
trapper was so glad to see William still alive after the winter and
looking around the homestead he commented on how well he was doing,
“Young William you have brought order out of chaos and made
yourself quite a home.” William urged him to come in the house and
as the big man ducked to get through the door he saw her on
Williams’s bed. “You are a fine trapper, and this is quite a
catch, a bit gamey, but still.” William explained about the
infection he suspected and the trapper went out to his horse to
gather some supplies. He made a mixture out of some herbs and applied
it to her wounds, and a bitter smelling tea that she choked and
gagged on as he made her drink it. “That should help” he told the
young farmer, “I will teach you how to make the tea, it’s a
curative of St John’s and some common herbs, the paste is mostly a
mustard plaster that you can make here as well, it will draw out the
poison, now the important question, where did you find her?”
William gave the trapper all of the details of his hunting
expedition. As the day wore on into night the two men talked in
lowered tones. “She belongs to someone, that’s a truth for sure,
from her clothes I would guess Lakota, but so far away from her
native land I don’t quite understand, “said the trapper. William
asked where the Lakota where from, and when it was explained that
they ranged in the frontiers of the Nevada badlands William thought
about the trip to take her home, the risks of going back into the
United States, he was still a wanted man, and just the distance of it
made his head spin. They also talked about William’s well dressed
guest, which was a different conversation all together. “The next
time you see him,” the trapper began, “for the love of all that’s
holy don’t let him in, that man’s a minion of hell as sure as you
draw breath, take those navy colts you found off the dead trappers
and fill his scrawny hide with lead and shot.” William agreed that
there was something about him that set him into unease, and the
trapper was vehement about the navy colts.
They talked of
other things as friends do and then stepped out into the yard so
William could play his fiddle without disturbing his sleeping guest
too much. The two men slept under an oak growing by the house, not
falling asleep until they had discussed the whole of their time
apart. As the sun rose over the tree line William woke with a start,
he had become accustomed to his bed and waking up after sleeping on
the ground had left him stiff and sore. The trapper had been up for
some time and had made coffee, as well as helping himself to some of
William’s sweetbread. “The fevers broke she should be round in a
day or so, the sleep will build her strength.” Falstaff commented,
“She will be right as rain in no time.” William got up, rubbing
his hip which hurt from the hard ground, “I was thinking about the
man with her, should I perhaps send her to his people?” Falstaff
rubbed his great grey beard, and thought about the boy’s question
for a moment. “I would guess that she was a translator of the wild
tongues for him, Lakota, Cree, and Mohawk, some of which travel
through these woods in search of game, he was most assuredly a
missionary of some kind, a Jesuit or a Franciscan Father, there hard
men to pin down as they move about with the tribes for the most part,
but if you see one you could tell him your tale and I am sure that
they would take her back with them, but know that sometimes these
missionaries can be quite harsh on their charges, especially the
unschooled heathens”. He couldn’t picture the man who fought so
bravely for her, the man whose dying words were to take care of her
with “all his heart” ever being harsh, but he was only one man of
many. The day went on and the men talked about the wilds, the traps,
and the hunting, they also talked of family and friends that they had
not seen in such a long time. Around noon Falstaff said his good bys
and mounted his great grey horse. “Play us a spritely tune young
William, and I will see you when I am back this way with the snow.”
William raised his fiddle and played “The Coast of Galicia” as
the big man rode off into the tree line.
William trusting
that his guest would be well went back to his work, still keeping a
cautious eye on his charge. Two days after Falstaff’s visit she
woke with the rising sun. She walked, slowly and a bit unsteadily
like some newborn colt, out into the yard of the house to see William
washing himself with a bucket of water he had drawn from the well.
She looked at the pale skinned man and despite her worry about who he
might be she could not help but giggle. He was tall and thin but
muscular, his dark brown hair had grown long and he had it tied in a
ponytail, he wore no beard which most white men did have, she
wondered if he was too young for one. She had surprised him as he
tried to clean himself and seeing her had sent him scattering for a
shirt to cover himself with and somehow she found it hilarious as he
tripped over himself trying to be modest.
She went back in
the house listening to a litany of minor curses as he kicked over the
water bucket and then tripped over his boots that he had placed
nearby. After a few moments he walked in to the house, still wet but
no worse for wear, he looked at her as she took stock of her new
surroundings. “I’m William” he said in a cautious tone so not
to frighten her, “You were injured so I brought you home, this is
my house.” He mentally kicked himself, “This is my house” he
thought, he had never been so nervous in his life. She looked around
the single room, a bed, a table with one chair, a fireplace, some
small things placed on a makeshift mantle, a soft rug woven tight,
some worn dishes, sitting on the table a strange leather object that
she could not recognize and by the door a flintlock rifle with powder
and shot nearby. She turned to look at him, he had kind eyes was her
first thought of him, and then she quickly pictured him tripping over
his own feet to hide himself. She ran her hand over the object on the
table and looked at him with a questioning glance. “Oh, that’s my
fiddle”, he stepped over picked up the case and took out the old
red fiddle, “It’s a fiddle” he said he pulled out the bow and
started to play, a soft song at first, a love song. She had never
heard anything so beautiful; as he finished the song he remarked,
“See it’s a fiddle.” She smiled, and then darker thoughts
entered her mind. “The padre “she asked, William looked confused
for a second, “Oh, I’m so sorry, his injuries were too great, but
he told me to take care of you and I promised that I would.” She
turned, and tried to hold back the tears that came to her eyes.
William sensed that she was upset but in truth he did not know what
to do. He remembered Kate crying over the death of a horse back on
the farm, he stepped forward and put his arms around her. “He told
me to take care of you, you’re safe here.” She felt the warmth of
his heart in the embrace, but still she wept.
He took her back
to the bed in the corner of the room and set her down, “You still
need to rest, and if you’re hungry I can get you something all you
need do is ask.” She was tried and weak, so she wordlessly nodded
and lay down on the bed. Hours later she woke to the smells of
cooking. She looked around and saw him adding some herbs to a pot in
the fireplace. She sat up and looked at him groggily. “It’s my
own recipe for rabbit stew, it’s not bad,” he got up and got her
a bowl and a wooden spoon and pulled out the chair from the table.
The stew was rich and thick, and he was right it wasn’t bad at all.
After she ate and he gave her a tall cup of cold milk he looked at
her and said. “I don’t even know your name”; she looked over at
him and said, “It’s Hayakatisou (Hay-a-ka-tis-sou). “It means
Fallen Sister” she added and looked down at the floor. He stumbled
over the pronunciation a few times before he finally got it.” What
a lovely name” he thought about the strange name for a few moments
and then asked, “I don’t understand, fallen sister?”
She looked away
for a moment and then told him her story. “I was born one of three
sisters, we were a gift to the Lakota people but the white Calvary
came and killed everyone in my village, every man woman and child was
slaughtered, my mother, my two sisters, my father all killed before
my eyes. I escaped with the padre and he took me to where he thought
that the whites could not find me, but they sent a devil after us and
we have been running now for three summers.” He looked at her and
said, “Not too many people come this way, in fact in a year I have
only seen a handful, and most of them you know about, the trappers
and the preacher.” He paused for a moment thinking about the well
dressed man who had come by in the early summer,” There was one man
but that was months ago, he’s long gone by now.” “Where were
you going?” William asked. “The padre has brothers in Upper
Canada with the French; he thought that all that distance away would
guarantee my safety “she replied. William looked at her and his
heart went out to her, hunted, no family, and no friends, truly she
was alone in the world. “Well you are welcome to stay here with me
for as long as you like,” in truth he was hopeful that she would
stay, “You should be safe here, as I said, no one comes this way
very much at all.” She looked at him and said “You put yourself
at risk for someone you don’t know.” He thought about it for a
moment, he reason for his journey here was to find peace, and he had
found it, his life was the land, his work, his friend Falstaff, it
was a life at peace but he couldn’t leave this poor woman out in
the world alone, even if it meant that his peace might be disturbed
or challenged. “I do” he said, “I think that you might like it
here if you don’t mind me as company, if you want to leave a man I
trust will be back here in the winter and you can go with him to one
of the settlements and then make your way to the French colonies.”
She looked at him and thought about his answer. He got up and brought
his fiddle case down and took out the old instrument, he lovingly
rosined the bow and then he began to play. She knew that there was
something about this man that she liked.
The next day he
thought about the sleeping arrangements, and then he got his axe and
began chopping down a few more trees. In a few days he had built a
second room on his small home, he hung an old thick blanket from the
ceiling to the floor and now he had a second room, building another
bed would take a few more days, a second chair he would worry about
at another time, he really missed his bed.
During the day
she taught him farming methods that he had never thought of, and the
two of them worked the farm and lived a quiet lifestyle. As the weeks
passed they became more comfortable with each other’s company as
people do when they are put together, he told her his story without
leaving anything out, the whole truth about running away from home
because he didn’t want to fight, he told her about his abusive
father and his loving sister. She told him stories of the Lakota
people’s and stories of the land, he marveled at her tales of love
and hardship overcome. At night they would eat a simple meal, tell
stories or she would teach him words in her mother tongue, and then
he would play his fiddle, he would play for her.
The trees took on
a myriad of color and the morning fog left frost on the ground, the
seasons were once again changing. They had a good harvest and he had
dug a root cellar and made an addition to the barn to keep their
produce well into the winter months, she had built a smoke house and
taught him how to preserve meats without using salt. They decided
that one more hunt would keep them through the winter months. They
packed well for the trip, and this time he made sure to take the two
navy colts just in case, she had fashioned a longbow and a quiver of
arrows, he wondered at the effectiveness of such a weapon. They had
been out for a three days, most of the bigger game had already
started out for their winter ranges but there was still game to be
had.
He came upon
clear tracks in a thicket and the two of them made their way quietly
after their prey, as them came through a clearing they saw a big
buck, William raised the flintlock and took careful aim. They were
not the only one’s hunting, a single timber wolf had been tracking
the deer for a few hours and noticing that the deer had a limp
thought it easy prey. Now the hungry wolf saw William from some
underbrush and gauging that the smaller creature was easier to take
down than the big deer, he changed his target. Just as William was
about to squeeze off a shot the wolf attacked from behind, the speed
of the creature was amazing and he had run up closing the distance in
fractions of a second without making a sound. As the creatures sharp
teeth pieced Williams shoulder he fired off the flintlock into the
air frightening the wolf and making it jump a few feet back. William
felt the pain in his shoulder, he felt his arm go numb and as he
tried to turn he fell before his skilled attacker. She was a few feet
off to Williams left, just in case he had missed with the flintlock
she was prepared to take down the buck with an arrow, as William fell
she turned to see the wolf leap at the downed farmer. In a long
practiced motion she shifted the aim of the bow and let loose the
arrow. The wolf was in mid air when the arrow went through his heart,
he never felt a thing.
The bite had been
savage but the deerskin jacket had taken away some of its power, the
wound was of course still very bad. She ran over to William and
cradled him in her lap as she looked at the wound, he was bleeding
profusely and her first thought was to staunch the flow of his blood.
She used anything she could get her hands on trying to pack the
wound, but it was deep and William kept bleeding. He opened his eyes
for a second and looked up at her, “did we get it” he asked
before falling into shock. She started a fire as quickly as she could
and taking one of her arrows she began to heat the flint arrow head.
“Just come back to me”, she cried out in a loud voice, “Just
come back.” When the flint tip of the arrow was as hot as the small
fire would make it she pulled back the packing and the blood spurted
on her deerskins, she then quickly cauterized the wounds. With the
bleeding stopped shock was the bigger problem. She threw all the wood
in the thicket on her small fire and found the bedroll in one of the
packs, she wrapped William as well as she could and went about to
build a lean-to as quickly as possible to get him out of the
elements. She held him and prayed that he would open his eyes. She
kept feeding the fire and holding William until the sun rose the next
morning. William opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was her face
close beside him, her body keeping him warm, keeping him alive.
They made their
way back to the homestead and as they went William realized that he
would of died if had not been for her. She commanded him to rest
until his wounds were healed and she made a plaster and strong bitter
herbs for his wounds. William wanted to get up, there was work to do
before winter, but she made him stay at rest. She finished the
harvest and put up some stocks for the winter and told him not to
worry. One morning when he moved back the curtain he saw that her bed
had not been slept in the night before, he dressed as quickly as he
could and went out into the yard, she was skinning a fair sized doe.
“You’re not the only one who can hunt” she laughed. His wounds
healed quickly and well, and in no time he was back to work around
the farm.
The rest of the
summer went without incident, the hard labor of the harvest was for
the most part done when the first of the winter frost hit and the two
had been able to prepare for the hard winter months. They had become
like a hand in a glove working together and living there simple yet
somehow full life. As the leaves fell they would take walks in the
forest surrounding their little farm, marveling at the beauty and
peace of the place. The clock seemed to slow when they were together,
nothing seemed to matter, not the people back in Pennsylvania, not
the coming winter, not even the distance from the Lakota mattered
when they were together. The days and nights seemed to melt into each
other like a river flowing to the sea; time just was there, no longer
an enemy but a companion on the journey.
One day in the
late fall after a day of walking and planning the next year’s crop
and a long discussion about getting a second horse the two of them
went to bed. William drew the old blanket across the space between
the beds and crawled under his hand woven blanket, resting his head
on the straw and sweet grass pillow that Hayakatisou had made for
him, just as he was drifting off to sleep he heard a sound, it was so
very quiet that he could not easily identify it, he opened his eyes
and looked. At the end of his bed she stood in the soft light of the
moon through the open shutter of the window. Her hair down laying
against her bare skin, “William” she whispered. He sat up and
looked at her; an angel could not have been more lovely. She walked
softly to the side of his bed, “I love you” her voice sounded
like a song to him and as she spoke the words his heart swelled. She
slowly moved back the blanket and laid down beside him.
They went slowly
and carefully, gently and softly and as the night went by they held
each other as if the whole world depended on their embrace, and for
them their embrace was the whole world. In the morning they woke up
together, still wrapped in each other’s arms.
As the fall grew
colder, and the days grew shorter they spent more and more time
enjoying the gifts of young love. William even wrote a song for her
and gathered the last of the wild flowers for her to braid into her
hair. She in turn made him a new shirt and a much better pair of
boots, and everything seemed to be cause for a celebration of love.
As the first of the real snows fell and blanketed the little farm in
a magical white and frost covering William realized that his life
could not possibly be any better.
The winter was
filled with snow and cold but William and Hayakatisou barely noticed
the bitter weather. As midwinter approached the two of them prepared
for Falstaff’s return, William had a lot to tell his old friend and
a few days before Christmas William heard a familiar voice. “Hail
in the House, Fiddler are you still alive, I’ve brought meat and
wine for a celebration.” William ran out of the house and warmly
greeted his old friend. As the two of them came in he introduced
Hayakatisou, and added, with a grin from ear to ear, “my wife” to
his introduction. Falstaff remarked, “Some hunter you are to get
captured by the game.” He laughed in a big joyous way that seemed
to bring even more light into the little house. The three sat and
talked while Falstaff cooked the deer and set up the bottles of wine.
They were up half the night sharing stories like people do, reveling
in good company and of course the music from Williams fiddle, which
somehow sounded more alive than ever.
In the morning
Falstaff took William outside as he prepared his mount. “Young
Fiddler” he began, “I ran into your man with the shined boots, he
is a bounty hunter hired by some Calvary officer who’s afraid his
chance at being a governor will drift away like morning fog if word
of the slaughter of an innocent Lakota tribe comes to light”.
Falstaff lowered his voice so only William could hear, “He knows
Hayakatisou escaped, and he has an idea as to where, it seems one of
the padre’s brothers told him of their plans without knowing who he
was and he’s been combing the countryside from the Niagara’s all
the way to York looking for the girl.” Falstaff’s expression was
dark, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of your young Miss,
but I think the best thing to do for all, her and you, young William
is to send her to the brothers at the French mission in Three Rivers,
or, to send her back to the Nevada’s to unmask this villain, you
two talk about it, I will return in the early spring and we can make
up our minds then”. Falstaff climbed atop his great grey horse. “I
am truly sorry William, but something must be done to protect both
her and you my dear friend.”
As Falstaff rode
off Williams heart for the first time in a long time was heavy. He
couldn’t bring himself to tell her, yet he had to. The day went by
and Hayakatisou saw the shadows in William’s eyes. Finally at
dinner she broached the subject. As William explained what the big
trapper had told him she tried to fight back the tears, but in the
end, even with her strong heart she couldn’t. They talked about it,
they cried and held each other as if that moment was there last
together and as the sun set over the bare trees they, together, came
to a decision. She would go to back to Nevada and tell her story to
the judge in Whiskey River, a town near where the massacre had
happened, she would hope for justice. She would speak for her dead
sisters, her family, and her people and hope that somehow it would be
made that the guilty would pay for their crimes. They held each other
and spoke of the spring being far off and perhaps something would
happen before she had to go to, something that would take her name
off the hunters list.
Time has a way of
never being what you want it to be, and before too long the first
signs of spring started to show. They both knew that soon Falstaff
would be riding up to their small farm and it would be time for her
to go. They had talked about him going with her but it had been
decided that it was better if he did not, not only to avoid his
father’s wrath but it would be hard to explain to a judge in Nevada
exactly who he was without going into the details of his crimes.
They worked the
farm and drew even closer together, forged by love that comes from
struggle. Each night they held each other close fearing that the next
day would be there last. The weeks went by and the land grew warmer,
this time however Hayakatisou and William were not glad to see the
spring thaw, not happy to see the birds return, all they felt was the
sadness and the fear of losing each other.
One night just
after they had started to plant the spring crops there was a voice
calling out to the house. “William Coveter of Burleigh County
Pennsylvania, come out we have something for you.” William looked
at Hayakatisou, “Stay here there looking for me.” Hayakatisou
grabbed his arm, “William” she said, in her eyes fear. William
grabbed one of the Navy Colts and stepped out the door. There were
two rough looking men in long coats both with Winchester rifles on
their hips and between them was Kate. William’s heart sank as he
looked at her, it looked as if she had been dragged along behind the
two for miles, she was covered in the dust from the trail and her
hands were bound in front of her, behind the two men and their mounts
on a small donkey was a white bassinet tied with heavy cord. “Why
William we been looking for you all across this frozen waste and then
we come on your sister at Brant’s Ford, looking to find you as
well, quite a piece of luck”. The first man leveled his rifle at
the young farmer, “Now you come along nice a quiet or I’ll split
your sister like cord wood.” William didn’t know what to do, he
had no choice, he felt the Navy Colt slip from his hand and fall to
his feet. “That’s a boy” the first man quipped as the second
chuckled.
From behind them
a sharp whistling sound and then as if by magic an arrow appeared
coming out of the second man chest, he turned to face his attacker
but by then a second arrow passed through his neck, he slumped down
on his horse. The first man was caught trying to turn his mount to
face the direction of the attack and as he turned the shaft of yet
another arrow caught him in his heart. He dropped his rifle never
seeing where his killer stood. Hayakatisou walked out from behind one
of the tall trees that surrounded the house, the bow still in her
hand, an arrow still held in the string and a look of grim
determination in her eyes.
Kate ran to her
brother weeping. After a hug that nearly broke Kate’s ribs William
looked into the eyes of his sister, both of them now in tears, “I
am so glad to see you, what happened” William began. Kate fought
with her tears, which at this point were a mix of shock and joy at
seeing her brother. “Father wouldn’t let me stay after Jacob was
born”. “Jacob” William stammered, Hayakatisou walked up to the
brother and sister with the small white bassinet, her eyes on the
small child that it contained. Kate looked at Hayakatisou, “Jacob”
she said as if she was talking to someone who didn’t understand.
Hayakatisou looked at the small perfect child, “An-nous-Ya Jacob”
she said, “He beautiful” she remarked to Kate. Kate looked at the
young woman in front of her, “I don’t know what to say, you saved
us both, they were going to sell my son, kill me and turn William in
for the bounty that father put on his head.” Hayakatisou looked at
the two dead men; her eyes grew dark for a moment. “I couldn’t
let them take William”.
The two women
went into the house to take care of the baby and to attend to Kate’s
wounds as William found a place in the forest to bury the bounty
hunters; he thought about keeping their horses but thought better of
it and sent them off into the wilderness. “They will find their way
back to the settlement. He did take the rifles and ammunition as well
as some of the other goods that the men had, including a wanted
poster with his name on it. By the time William retuned Kate was in a
much improved condition, Hayakatisou’s had a real skill in caring
for the injured.
As William came
in Kate turned to him, “I told you I would come some day, I just
never thought it would be as bait with bounty hunters.” William
asked her a million questions and then Kate began. “Mother is still
alive but very ill; father didn’t want her around so we took her to
her sisters at Fort McAlister, that was almost three months ago and I
haven’t heard a word at all on her well being, I fell in love with
Robert Clance from Allworth parish and well when father found out he
went mad, he made up a charge of robbery and sent some of his friends
from the Regulars to bring me home and take Robert into custody.”
She paused, her eyes again welled with tears, and “They hung him
for trying to protect me and Jacob”. As she told the rest of her
story it became clear that William could never go back to the
Pennsylvania. “Father became more and more bitter with each passing
day; he raised the bounty on you to five hundred dollars dead or
alive, and he swore that he would kill you with his bare hands if he
ever got the chance.” Kate explained that madness gripped her
father and as the days went by it just grew worse. William and
Hayakatisou told there story to Kate, and as they came to the end of
their tale Kate reached out and took Hayakatisou’s slender hand in
hers. “You love him” she asked, Hayakatisou replied, “With all
my heart”.
William being the
practical one began to think of what to do with two more people to
feed and shelter. The little house was in no way big enough for the
four of them. As the night went on they discussed what would be done
and by morning William was ready to go to work. It took William and
Hayakatisou a little more than a week to build a small but sturdy
house for Kate and Jacob, of course they would share all that they
had with William’s sister but they did need their privacy. Kate
went to work caring for Jacob and working on the farm and the new
house, and she like her brother worked long and hard, all the while
though she smiled, it was the first time since her brother had left
the farm that she felt at home.
The two women had
some time alone while William went out to check his traps and do some
hunting, Hayakatisou made some berry tea and sat down with Kate as
she fed Jacob. Kate looked into Hayakatisou’s eyes, “You’re
pregnant aren’t you” she questioned. Hayakatisou blushed and said
“maybe two months now”. The two women talked about what would
happen when William’s friend Falstaff returned. “I will go to the
Nevada judge” Hayakatisou stated, “I will seek justice for me and
for my people, they might just kill me but I can’t hide here, and I
can’t live on the run with a child in my arms.” The women heard
the sound of horses in front of the house, both felt a deep fear;
both knew it could be more bounty hunters. They peered through the
shuttered window, yes it was more bounty hunters, and it was the
worst of them.
The tall man who
had introduced himself as Jack the Cobblers son sat on his tall black
horse, he surveyed the little homestead. “William” he called out,
“William Coveter, come out now, I’m not after you, just the squaw
whore.” Kate looked at Hayakatisou, “I will distract him, run and
find William.” Hayakatisou looked at her and nodded. Kate got up
and picked up one of the Winchesters, she had no idea on how to use
it but maybe just its presence would be enough. She stepped out of
the little house bravely, “William’s not here, he’s gone to the
French settlement at Three Rivers” she leveled the rifle at the two
mounted men. The tall man looked at her with distain as the other man
a gruff looking fellow drew a long barreled revolver. “Now miss, is
that any way to greet a stranger, with a rifle and a lie.”
Hayakatisou worked one of the planks loose and slipped out of the
house silently, she had the other Winchester, and she cocked it when
she was safely in the tree line behind the house.
The hunter looked
at Kate, “You would be Kate Clance late of Pennsylvania, William’s
sister, I guessed that you would be here, I will take the bounty on
you as well, and your brother you say has gone to the French, let us
see.” He nodded at the gruff looking man and he quickly fired a
shot into the air with the pistol at his side. William was not that
far off and when he heard the shot he dropped his trap line and ran
toward the house fearing for the worst. Hayakatisou also heard the
report of the pistol, she froze and then thought of Kate and Jacob,
she turned back from the safety of the trees and sprinted toward the
house.
Hayakatisou was
much faster than William, and she ran straight into yet another
bounty hunter who had been circling the homestead. He raised his
rifle, “the squaw is wanted dead, just the scalp will do” he took
careful aim, just at that moment William cleared the trees and seeing
what was happening screamed out to Hayakatisou. She turned to see her
husband jump in front of the third bounty hunters rifle shot. The
bullet flew on its deadly path and struck William in the chest, he
fell to the ground as Hayakatisou screamed and fired at the hunter.
Her aim was true and the shot took off the back of the man head. The
hunter heard the shots and said to Kate, “Now who could that be”.
He told the other tracker to take Kate into hand, he looked a bit
worried but the experienced hunter said to him. “Her rifles empty,
the breach is open”, both men laughed a bit as the hunter spurred
his mount toward the house.
The gruff man
started to dismount and looking toward Kate said, “The bounty on
you didn’t say what shape you had to been in to collect the reward
and you are a pretty one.” As he put his foot on the ground Kate
charged at him and using the Winchester as a club she knocked the
bounty hunter unconscious, his other foot still hooked in the strips
she smacked his horse on the rear, “Yah” she shouted, the
startled animal ran off, smashing the man’s skull as it ran through
the tree line.
The hunter came
around the house and went into the small field behind it. Carefully
looking around he saw Hayakatisou kneeling on the ground, cradling
William in her arms, the farmer had taken a round in the chest and
was bleeding profusely. He rode a few feet forward and drew his forty
five caliber pistol gently from it holster, he leveled it at
her.”He’s as good as dead squaw, now step away from him and the
rifle.” Hayakatisou could barely see for the flood of tears in her
eyes, she looked up to see the black clad hunter slowly bearing down
on her. “I don’t want to make this painful on you,” he said,
“I’m not a brute just a man doing a job so don’t run or try
anything smart that will only make it go harder on you.” The hunter
pulled back the hammer on his pistol as he rode to just a few feet
away from the weeping Hayakatisou.
The hunter
steadied his aim on the distraught woman, as he started to squeeze
the trigger he heard a distinct sound behind him, a rifle bolt being
driven home by a strong hand. Falstaff had come upon the homestead,
he feared from looking at William just moments too late, but he would
not let the hunter kill the love of Williams life, Hayakatisou would
survive regardless of any other outcome. The hunter cocked his head,
“You don’t want to do that, others will follow and your life
won’t be worth a plug nickel”. The big trapper smiled, “Then
keep a place open for me in hell,” he pulled the trigger of his
Sharp’s rifle and the hunter was no more.
Falstaff and
Hayakatisou saw to Williams wound, the bullet had dug itself deep
into the young farmer and there was no way they could remove it
without killing the boy outright. They stopped the bleeding but the
round remained, Falstaff knew that William did not have much time.
Hayakatisou comforted William as best as she could through her tears.
“It’s just another bite; you will be back to your farming and
your fiddle in no time.” William held her hand as tightly as he
could, she never left his side. Six days later William the fiddler,
husband and father died from his wounds, wounds he had taken out of
love. Falstaff made a plot for the young man he had known and a
marker with his name on it. As he finished laying the boy to his
final rest he sang a sad lament to his only real friend in the world.
Kate tried to comfort Hayakatisou, but she was inconsolable, after a
week or so she packed a few belongings into her pack and spoke with
Falstaff, they would still go to the Nevada judge; she would be the
gift of the truth to her people, and to William. The day before the
two of them left Falstaff made a rough sign, “Fiddlers Green” it
said, he posted it on a sturdy oak tree a few yards from William’s
home. “Be at peace young fiddler.” Falstaff said as he walked
away from his work.
The morning came
and Hayakatisou and Falstaff stepped outside into the sunrise, Kate
holding Jacob, came out with them it was a fresh beautiful morning.
Falstaff mounted his grey horse and helped Hayakatisou on to the
black pony. “Come back Hayakatisou” Kate said, “This is your
home, where you belong.” Hayakatisou looked at her, she could see
William in her eyes, “Someday Kate, someday.”
The two rode off
into the forest, Hayakatisou could not bear to look back. Kate worked
the land and it flourished, and in time more people came to Fiddlers
Green, and Kate told them the story of her brother and the woman he
loved.
The years pasted
and one afternoon late in the fall and old trapper rode into the
small town of Fiddlers Green, he was a big man but the years had bent
his back and weakened his great arms. Jacob a successful and happy
young man went out to greet him. “Welcome stranger” the young man
called out. The aged trapper slowly dismounted, “I have come to see
Kate, the sister of the Fiddler” as he spoke the boy could see a
fire in his eyes. The young man lowered his head, “My mother died
two years ago during the winter, did you know her?” Falstaff, just
smiled, “Not well enough, but I am a friend of her brother and his
wife”. The young man introduced himself and when he said his name
the trapper said, “You’re the infant Jacob, the last time I saw
you, you weren’t the size of my hat” He hugged the boy, “At
least some of the Fiddler’s family still lives” he remarked.
Jacob looked at the trapper and in the back of his mind he heard his
mother’s stories of Falstaff, when he asked the man’s name the
old trapper looked at him and said. “I am Falstaff, brother of
William the Fiddler, friend and companion of Hayakatisou, and
guardian of her son William”. The younger man took his hand and
said, “Come to the house you must be tired from your journey”.
Jacobs’s wife brought the two men some tea as they walked through
the stone house, in the main room there was a fireplace and sitting
on the wood mantel was an old rough fiddle case.
“The old house
is still standing, I have kept it up over the years, mother wouldn’t
leave it even after we built this house and I just couldn’t see it
fall into disrepair after she died” Jacob told the weary trapper.
“I will stay there if you don’t mind” Falstaff said, “It’s
really the only home I have ever known.” Jacob took the older man
out back and down a garden path to where the house still stood, “hail
in the house” Falstaff said quietly. That night Jacob sat with the
old man and heard his story. Hayakatisou arrived in Whiskey River and
before she could tell the judge any part of her story the Calvary
officer fearing disgrace shot himself with his service revolver. Her
and Falstaff went further south and found a Lakota tribe, where her
son William was born, the delivery was very hard on her and her heart
was not as strong as it was when she was with William. Falstaff
guessed that part of her had died when William passed. She passed
away quietly in her sleep about a month later. Her son was raised by
the tribe and Falstaff stayed with them until the boy was old enough
to hear the story of William and his mother. Finally Falstaff had
decided that it was time for him to go back home so he packed up his
things and made his way back to Fiddlers Green. As the night wore on
Jacob told his story and the two men drank and as it was getting
late, Jacob told Falstaff to give him a moment. He stepped out of the
old wooden house into the night, a few minutes later he came back
with the old fiddle case, he opened it lovingly and pulled out the
fiddle, he played a few soft songs, a love song and a lament.
Falstaff asked if he knew “The Coast of Galicia” the young man
nodded and broke into the spritely tune, Falstaff closed his eyes,
pictured his young friend and went off to meet him.
It was a hot
summer day and most of the traffic on the 403 was just crawling
along, most of it except for a black “Big Boss” Harley and its
rider who were zigzagging in and out of the cars and trucks with a
practiced ease. The Harley flew down the highway until it came to an
off ramp just south of Brantford, were it peeled off and accelerated.
Finally the bike slowed as it entered a little town, looking just a
bit out of place on the quaint street with flowers on the curbs and
cute small shops selling tourist trinkets.
The rider went
past the perfect little houses and convenience stores without a
glance and turning on to an old gravel road and then driving up
toward an old stone church, the bike then came to a gentle stop. The
rider dismounted and took off the black full face helmet, letting her
long straight black hair fall to her waist line, just below the end
of her black leather jacket. An old man walked down the steps of the
church, “Can I help you miss”, he asked looking at her dark
features, she was thin as a reed but a lovely young woman, and he
wondered what she wanted here. “My name is Hayakatisou, and I am
looking for my husband.”
The End (Maybe)
